stockings, gauzy, French sort of things, from the line by the fire.
He could well imagine what they would look like on her, and more importantly what it would feel like sliding them off her long, elegant legs.
When she saw him staring at her unmentionables, she blushed and shoved them into her valise. “I really must be away.”
“Away?” He shook his head. “You can’t leave.”
“I’m certainly not staying.”
He rose from the table. “You don’t understand. You can’t leave. If you do, you’ll be breaking the law. The magistrate won’t allow it, and I assure you the constable will have you in irons before you can cross the shire.”
“And you, sir?” she asked. “Will you allow me to be wed against my will?”
“Well, I…I mean to say,” he stammered. He’d never considered the idea. “That is, order must be maintained.” Some answer, he thought. He sounded like a third-rate barrister who’d barely managed to make the bar, let alone find the Inns of Court.
“Yes, that is a fine opinion. Some gentleman you are.” She tossed a glance in his direction, as if she were sizing him up to see if he were capable of stopping her. When she continued her packing, he felt more than just slighted.
“I care not what your antiquated laws require,” she told him. “I will be well away from here before anyone misses me. As it is, I’ve tarried too long. Thank you, sir, for your warning, and now I bid you good day.” She finished stowing her meager possessions and then plopped a straw bonnet atop her head and hustled out the door before he could even try to stop her.
So much for his arguments about maintaining law and order.
But more than that, he found himself unsettled by the quiet solitude of Esme’s cottage that now surrounded him. Instead of wrapping him with a sense of calm, it only served as a unpleasant reminder of the empty, lonely void that was his life.
How was it that in such short order, this tart- tongued, spirited lady had left her mark upon him? Not that he was likely to discover what that mark might be, for he’d let her get away.
Demmit, he didn’t even know her name.
But a few moments later she came rocketing back into the cottage, a frown creasing her fair brow, and she managed quite handily to toss his life upside down once again.
“Forget something?” he asked, trying his best to ignore the cheer of elation rising in his chest at the sight of her crooked bonnet and the tangled curls peeking out beneath it.
“Yes,” she said, her booted foot gouging at the floor, her teeth nibbling for a moment at her lower lip. “Which way is it to Brighton?”
Two
“ B righton?” Jemmy replied. “Are you serious? That’s a good fifty miles away. You can’t go there unescorted.”
Once again her chin rose stubbornly. “I don’t see that it is any of your concern.”
She was right, it wasn’t. But still…
“What is in Brighton that is so important?” he asked. It was mere curiosity, he told himself. Not that he cared. Truly he didn’t. But then again, what was she thinking traveling about the countryside unchaperoned? She had every appearance of a lady—from her expensive gown to her innocent blushes, not to mention the pair of silk stockings that would be too dear for anyone but quality—and therefore had no business gadding about the countryside without someone looking out for her welfare.
“I wish to…I mean to say…” She crossed her arms over her chest. “I have a matter of some importance to conclude there.”
Pretty and stubborn to boot, he mused. Yet despite the dead-eyed challenge in her gaze, he didn’t miss the waver to her overly confident words. No, for all her bravado, this was a lady in trouble.
Demmit , he thought, his fingers curling around the top of his walking stick, if she needed help, all she had to do was ask. Then again, he reminded himself, she was asking him, if only for directions, that is.
Worst of all, in her defiance he saw a
He could well imagine what they would look like on her, and more importantly what it would feel like sliding them off her long, elegant legs.
When she saw him staring at her unmentionables, she blushed and shoved them into her valise. “I really must be away.”
“Away?” He shook his head. “You can’t leave.”
“I’m certainly not staying.”
He rose from the table. “You don’t understand. You can’t leave. If you do, you’ll be breaking the law. The magistrate won’t allow it, and I assure you the constable will have you in irons before you can cross the shire.”
“And you, sir?” she asked. “Will you allow me to be wed against my will?”
“Well, I…I mean to say,” he stammered. He’d never considered the idea. “That is, order must be maintained.” Some answer, he thought. He sounded like a third-rate barrister who’d barely managed to make the bar, let alone find the Inns of Court.
“Yes, that is a fine opinion. Some gentleman you are.” She tossed a glance in his direction, as if she were sizing him up to see if he were capable of stopping her. When she continued her packing, he felt more than just slighted.
“I care not what your antiquated laws require,” she told him. “I will be well away from here before anyone misses me. As it is, I’ve tarried too long. Thank you, sir, for your warning, and now I bid you good day.” She finished stowing her meager possessions and then plopped a straw bonnet atop her head and hustled out the door before he could even try to stop her.
So much for his arguments about maintaining law and order.
But more than that, he found himself unsettled by the quiet solitude of Esme’s cottage that now surrounded him. Instead of wrapping him with a sense of calm, it only served as a unpleasant reminder of the empty, lonely void that was his life.
How was it that in such short order, this tart- tongued, spirited lady had left her mark upon him? Not that he was likely to discover what that mark might be, for he’d let her get away.
Demmit, he didn’t even know her name.
But a few moments later she came rocketing back into the cottage, a frown creasing her fair brow, and she managed quite handily to toss his life upside down once again.
“Forget something?” he asked, trying his best to ignore the cheer of elation rising in his chest at the sight of her crooked bonnet and the tangled curls peeking out beneath it.
“Yes,” she said, her booted foot gouging at the floor, her teeth nibbling for a moment at her lower lip. “Which way is it to Brighton?”
Two
“ B righton?” Jemmy replied. “Are you serious? That’s a good fifty miles away. You can’t go there unescorted.”
Once again her chin rose stubbornly. “I don’t see that it is any of your concern.”
She was right, it wasn’t. But still…
“What is in Brighton that is so important?” he asked. It was mere curiosity, he told himself. Not that he cared. Truly he didn’t. But then again, what was she thinking traveling about the countryside unchaperoned? She had every appearance of a lady—from her expensive gown to her innocent blushes, not to mention the pair of silk stockings that would be too dear for anyone but quality—and therefore had no business gadding about the countryside without someone looking out for her welfare.
“I wish to…I mean to say…” She crossed her arms over her chest. “I have a matter of some importance to conclude there.”
Pretty and stubborn to boot, he mused. Yet despite the dead-eyed challenge in her gaze, he didn’t miss the waver to her overly confident words. No, for all her bravado, this was a lady in trouble.
Demmit , he thought, his fingers curling around the top of his walking stick, if she needed help, all she had to do was ask. Then again, he reminded himself, she was asking him, if only for directions, that is.
Worst of all, in her defiance he saw a
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